


love and longing

by wakandawinterprincess



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, F/M, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Original female character is a WOC, also i luv drama, and definitely an AU because these characters would NEVER, but either way, but i love it, but they also could and that hurts too, for the record shuri is 18 in BP and 20 in IW, im so sorry in advance, oh man, so like, specifically a wakandan woman, this is really horrible, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 04:52:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15041120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wakandawinterprincess/pseuds/wakandawinterprincess
Summary: AU: Shuri longs for the White Wolf. But the princess doesn’t always get what she wants.





	love and longing

**Author's Note:**

> Unrequited pining, unspoken desire, definitely not within MCU timeline or even entirely within those exact, cookie-cutter characterizations, but an interesting take on the two characters that isn’t… entirely unreasonable lmao?? Sorry in advance. The angst is strong here.

Love at first sight is a ridiculous notion. Something best left to the confines of a fairy tale.

Shuri _knows_ this.

And yet.

Whilst waking up a man from the dead, she nearly finds herself believing in one.

He coughs and blinks blearily before he meets her eyes, and the way he looks at her, the slow, cautious smile that breaks across his face --  it’s like he just _knows_ that she’s his savior.

As he smiles up at her, looking so genuinely hopeful and so _grateful_ , she can feel her breath catch.

_Oh._

He’s striking to look at, but its the focus of his _eyes_ on hers that leaves her in awe.

When she meets his gaze, she can feel the sudden, giddy race of her heart.

Its hopeful, stuttering _maybe._

_Maybe._

_Maybe someday_.

* * *

 

His recovery is a slow process.

“Broken white boy”, while made in jest, is a moniker that has more than a hint of truth to it.

Recovering his memories -- _all_ of them -- well, it’s hard on him.

He wakes to nightmares more times than she can count, looking scared and fiercely _alone_.

But he handles it with more bravery than anyone she’s ever seen. And Shuri is with him every step of the way.

As she counsels him through his demons, she can’t help but marvel at it all.

The way he’s fighting tooth and nail for his sanity, but still makes time to sit with her at the lake, laugh at her jokes. To look at her like she’s the moon and stars and then some.

She sees the Winter Soldier losing its grip on him, and she wonders if she’s losing a part of herself to him, too.

* * *

 

They get to the last day of his scheduled recovery period.

There’s one last exam to be passed.

She will be reading the trigger words to him.

Shuri reads them out in slow, clipped Russian. Braces herself for something, _anything_.

 

Nothing.

 

_Nothing!_

 

A slow, cautious smile stretches across his face, and then they’re both laughing and grinning and hugging, in awe of this final triumph. _At last_.

He presses a quick kiss to her cheek. _Thank you_.

It’s friendly and grateful and not at all inappropriate, but Shuri blushes down to her roots and swats him away, anyway.

He laughs at her embarrassed reaction, but it’s not unkind.

And when she’s finally able to look up at him again, she sees something soft in his eyes.

Something gentle.

Something she might even love.

* * *

 

The kiss on the cheek was innocent. Gentle.

So _why_ , she thinks, does it burn into her cheek, into her _brain_ , hours after?

* * *

 

 _This_ , she thinks a few nights later, is what an infatuation must feel like.

It’s a dangerous feeling. Make her vulnerable, in ways she’d never admit.

But truth be told?

This is one weakness she doesn’t mind.

* * *

Bucky takes on the mantle of White Wolf soon after. The nickname the children gave him becomes the basis for an entirely new identity, and he’s never been happier.

Shuri sees him fleetingly after that.

He spends several months outside of the country, serving alongside the Hatut Zeraze, Wakanda’s secret police force.

He rises within their ranks quickly. Rumors swirl that he may even be selected to lead them someday soon.

She doesn’t doubt it for a second. Her heart swells with pride at the thought, of him having a way to make use of his skills for a cause he actually cares about.

When he’s not out on assignments, he’s back in Wakanda, training new recruits for the country’s various armed forces.

It only made sense-- as one of the world’s foremost assassins, his understanding of one on one combat, stealth, and strategy was unparalleled. His methods, though not traditionally Wakandan in any way, shape, or form, were still worth teaching to the next generation of fighters.

Bucky trains incoming classes of aspiring warriors in the main Wakandan sparring studio on a rotating schedule. At the end of training, alongside the other instructors, he gives recommendations for their placement -- within the Royal Army, the Dora Milaje, and the Hatut Zeraze.

It’s tiring work, for sure.

It keeps him busy, and Shuri finds it hard to see him even when he’s around.

But the few times she catches up with him, she can see genuine happiness, even behind his work-weary eyes.

At last, he has a sense of belonging, one he hasn’t had for _years_.

And that, she thinks, is more than enough.

* * *

 

Eventually, the day comes that Shuri can no longer hide behind the confines of her lab.

At 21, she, too, must prepare to one day take on the mantle of the Black Panther. And that requires fight training -- far more extensive than anything she’s done yet.

She joins an all-female class of trainees in the studio for his class one evening, without warning.

He looks surprised to see her, but the flicker of delight that crosses his face doesn’t escape her notice.

She smiles at the ground, as she always does when she’s near him, and lets her training finally begin.

* * *

 

For some time, she gets to enjoy being the center of Bucky’s world again, and letting him be the center of hers.

He trains her well. Tells her that she needs to learn how to respond on instinct alone, because the battle will almost never be fair.

She knows he speaks from experience because she’s seen it, up close. And she trusts him, more than anyone else she knows, to prepare her as best as he can.

After class, they catch up whenever possible.

Their worlds barely align anymore, but she finds that she still enjoys his company. Still feels her traitorous heart flutter when he looks at her with his _stupid_ blue eyes. _Damn him_.

Still, she notices that he’s more distant these days. Friendly, yes, but like his mind is elsewhere.

Like he’s still missing something.

Shuri worries, sometimes, that her friendship is not enough for him.

Not that he’s ever asked anything more of her than her company, but the possibility still unsettles her.

It underscores, in a way, her own unresolved, turbulent emotions.

She doesn’t know the depth of her feelings well enough to admit to anything _besides_ friendship. Doesn’t know that it would be prudent, anyways.

Besides -- she has her country to think of first, and he has his own issues to deal with, too.

So she brushes her worries aside, for the time being.

* * *

 

One day, the winds change.

Her class is interrupted by the arrival of a new recruit, joining about a third of the way through the training schedule and quite literally in the middle of class.

Shuri has never seen this girl before, though perhaps, _girl_ is not the right word. She’s clearly a few years older than Shuri, and practically _exudes_ confidence, even as the room falls silent at her sudden entrance.

On instinct, Shuri turns to look at Bucky. He _can’t_ be happy about this, she figures. Adding new members so late into the training was not recommended for most recruits, and was likely another headache he wanted to avoid.

Shuri’s instinct was correct. Bucky looks more annoyed at the audacity of this girl at interrupting his class than anything else.

Still, Shuri thinks, he must give her a fair shot. He _has_ to.

Bucky levels with the girl. After briefly admonishing her for interrupting his class, he lays out the terms -- she must defeat a student of his picking in hand-to-hand combat within sixty seconds , or wait until the end of the schedule and try again. He does not have time to catch her up if she cannot manage that.

She smirks at him, as if the proposition amuses her, and breezily tells him she can do it in _thirty_.

It’s a thinly veiled challenge, if anything.

He raises a brow but says nothing. Just motions to a student near the front who he has selected as her opponent, and gestures at her to start.

 _This_ , Shuri thinks, is a little unfair. Bucky had chosen one of the best recruits so far, known for her excellent offensive plays.

She sighs and prepares for a quick fight.

* * *

 

The outcome of the fight seems obvious almost immediately.

The new girl, Shuri notices, deflects most jabs, choosing to be on the defensive rather than the offensive. It’s a good strategy to not lose, certainly, but she needs to _win_.

_Why?_

Shuri follows her gaze, and realizes, in an instant, just what she’s doing.

The new girls eyes are trained on her opponents’ limbs. More specifically, her _feet_.

She’s analyzing her fight pattern. And as it turns out, her opponent _steps_ before she punches.

All it will take for her to win, Shuri realizes, is one well-timed hit. All she’s doing is waiting for _exactly_ the right moment to strike.

* * *

 

The moment arrives.

With ten seconds left on the clock, she finally strikes. One tactful trip, jab to the throat, and the girl has her opponent on her back. She’s _won_. And the execution was near-perfect.

Bucky looks stunned. A little annoyed, a little surprised, for sure, but also begrudgingly, undeniably _impressed_.

A deal is a deal.

Someone lets out a whoop, and the whole class bursts into cheers.

He breaks from his reverie then, firmly tells the class to settle down. Gives her a polite congratulations, and tells her to file into the back of the room for the remainder of the class.

She smiles proudly and does just that, a new swagger in her step.

The rest of the class passes with no more interesting changes. And at the end of the night, Bucky congratulates them on a class well done, tells them to get rest. Watches as they file out obediently.

But if his eyes linger on the new girl, just a bit longer -- well, Shuri tries _desperately_ to forget it.

* * *

 

Shuri discovers the new girl’s name not long after that.

Khethiwe. Her name, translated literally, means "the chosen one".

* * *

 

Khethiwe is Shuri's opposite in almost every imaginable way.

Strong where Shuri is delicate, tough where Shuri is soft.

She is _incredibly_ tall, with work-worn hands and a body so powerful Shuri wonders if it isn’t indeed forged of vibranium.

She’s got the sort of womanly curves Shuri could only ever _dream_ of, and a kind of beauty that commands the attention of everyone in the room.

But she’s much more than a pretty picture, and Shuri knows this, too.

Poverty is not an affliction in Wakanda. Nevertheless, Khethiwe grew up in humble means, to say least. She lived with her single mother, one younger brother, and her sickly younger sister, whose illness had taken a toll on the entire family. Indeed, Khethiwe had spent most of her childhood helping support her family, but had always kept a smile on her face.

She has no legacy, no connections, not a drop of royal blood in her veins. Through raw talent and a bit of good timing, a Dora had discovered her and recommended that she go through training and join Wakanda’s forces. And even after grueling days of training, she somehow managed to find time to work a few small jobs, _just_ to ensure she could still provide for her family back home.

Her grit is, Shuri knows, something Bucky finds absolutely _fascinating._

In that way, she thinks, perhaps they are not so different.

Two self-made people who took the ugliness the world threw at them, and rose to the challenge anyways.

Two people, who cared utterly and _deeply_ for the ones they loved.

It hadn’t escaped her attention that Bucky often asked about Khethiwe’s ill younger sister. Shuri imagines the girl reminds him, in some distant way, of Steve.

A bittersweet memory, even if it was almost a lifetime ago.

It's as if the past _wants_ to continue to chase Bucky Barnes, well into the future.

But for once, he doesn't see it as torment. Shuri thinks, for once, he sees something else there.

_Promise._

* * *

 

They grow close fast.

Khethiwe teases the same smiles out of Bucky that used to be once reserved for Shuri and Shuri alone.

She sees the way his eyes soften around her, even if just for a fleeting moment or two.

The feeling is mutual.

Khethiwe pulls her aside one day after class and asks, uncharacteristically shyly, if the White Wolf ever asks after her.

Shuri freezes and nearly gives herself away. Has half a mind to lie and tell her that Bucky sees her as a student and nothing else.

But she _can’t_.

Battle may not be fair, but she cannot deceive Khethiwe like that.

It is not her issue to interfere with.

So she paints a friendly smile and tells her she’s not sure.

Because, well -- she _isn’t_.

* * *

 

It takes all the effort of Shuri’s being to swallow down her screaming insecurities at their growing closeness.

Whatever anyone says, she thinks, _she loved him first_.

She has that, at least.

* * *

 

Shuri can’t hide from the truth for long.

Truth be told, she is used to all his attention being focused on her. To see it turn now to another woman stings like nothing before.

Even if that woman is one as skilled, as powerful, as _beautiful_ as Khethiwe is.

Envy is a dirty feeling. It's not exactly what Shuri feels towards her.

It’s more of a mix of awe and admiration, with a healthy dose of deep-rooted, inexplicable _longing_.

To be _like_ her.

Or, perhaps, to be _with_ her.

Some days, it’s hard for Shuri to tell the difference.

Perhaps her judgement is askew. Her brain, finally adrift.

All Shuri knows for _certain_ is that her heart hurts in more ways than she thought possible.

* * *

 

Bucky doesn’t owe her anything, she knows.

Not his affections, not his interest, and _certainly_ not his desire.

She wishes, so _badly_ , that he did.

Just the mere thought of having him at her beck and call, in just the way she wants, gives Shuri a kind of twisted satisfaction she can barely contain. The impulse scares her.

But he _doesn’t_ owe her. Not a damn thing.

It’s the truth.

It makes _sense_.

But it doesn’t make accepting reality -- _her reality_ \--  any easier.

* * *

 

The tension between Bucky and Khethiwe is _palpable_.

She advances in rankings, outperforms all the other aspiring Dora in her training class.

He only makes her fight harder, determined to not show any favoritism to the star pupil.

Even so, the other trainees laugh and gossip idly about the way the White Wolf stares after her when he thinks no one can see.

They joke about the day he’ll finally give in to his desire for the beauty in front of him.

She’s _just_ the woman he needs, they giggle. Perfect for him, in every way.

Shuri listens on and says nothing.

* * *

 

If the two of them ever succumb to their feelings, they always say. _If_.

* * *

It’s not _if_ , she realizes one day.

It’s _when_ .

* * *

 

The _when_ arrives on the worst day possible.

Shuri had headed over to the sparring studio, having made a one-on-one appointment with Bucky to work on a move that had been giving her issues.

Just as she enters, she hears what sounds like a heated argument.

Another half step forward, and she catches a brief glimpse of Bucky already in the room. Finally recognizes an _oh-too-familiar_ female voice, intermingling with his.

They’re arguing. _Why?_

It’s none of her business. A part of her brain thinks she ought to turn on her heel and leave, _now_.

But her curiosity gets the best of her. Hiding by the side of the door, she peers in.

“ _Why_ was I not placed with the Hatut Zeraze?” Khethiwe rages at a now-silent Bucky. “I place highest in the class, and I _don’t_ get my top assignment pick?”

She takes in a deep breath, struggling to compose herself.

“No pitiful excuses, please. Tell me the _truth_ , damn it!”

“The assignment was not... appropriate.” Bucky replies, eyes flashing in anger. “You are not temperamentally ready for that kind of work.”

She laughs derisively. “ _What_ , pray tell, is that supposed to mean?”

“ _Exactly_ what it sounds like.” he snaps, clearly on edge. “ _Listen_ to yourself. You’re not ready for the field, and I will _not_ be responsible for your safety.”

She gapes at him.

“I am temperamentally _like_ this because _you_ have decided to rob me of what I deserve.” she snaps, finger jabbing into his chest.

“You _don’t_ need to protect me. And I’m not leaving until you actually answer me, or change my assignment, or _both_.”

Shuri sees him clench his jaw, sees the angry tic on his face.

“ _Fine_ . Please do. But I _will_ leave, seeing as I have someone else to attend to.” Bucky shoots back.

Satisfied, he turns to go.

That was his first mistake.

Khethiwe looks _infuriated_.

 

“ _Don’t_ turn your back on me!” she snarls at him.

Khethiwe lunges at him just as he starts to turns away from her.

She tackles him to the floor, using the sudden element surprise to her advantage, and has him pinned down in an _instant_.

Bucky has the gall to look bewildered, finally powerless for once.

Khethiwe lowers herself so she’s a mere breath away from his face, his lips.

“I choose my own path. My own destiny. Not you. _Is that clear?_ ” she hisses.

For a moment, his face is so furious and simultaneously so _indecipherable_ that Shuri actually _worries_ for Khethiwe. Worries that she may have finally crossed a line she cannot return from.  
  
  


Then, the anger in his eyes melts.

He flips the both of them over in a heartbeat.

Shuri’s breath catches in her throat as Bucky’s hands, one human and one metal, close around Khethiwe’s wrists. Hold her down.

“ _Is that clear?_ ” He repeats her question, fixing her with his own sudden, heated gaze.

His eyes narrow. He grips her tighter, just enough that she cries out.

“Clear as glass _._ ” he growls, leaning down and pressing his lips to hers.

Shuri hears Khethiwe’s sudden, sharp intake of breath, of surprise. But then she _moans_ beneath him and loses herself to his kiss, and he releases her wrists so she has her hands tugging into his hair.

His arms slide desperately down her sides, over the curves of her form. Shuri can see Bucky’s strong arms tighten around her, tight enough to make Khethiwe gasp again, and she yanks his hair in response.

Bucky turns his head and deepens the kiss, and Khethiwe now slips one hand over his shoulder, tugging him ever closer. She rolls her hips firmly, _deliberately_ against his, and now _he_ intakes a ragged breath at the movement.

Shuri feels rooted to the floor as she watches them. She cannot move, even if she wanted to. There is something frightening and yet fascinating about the two of them, in this moment- something raw and primal and _hungry_ that thrills her as much as it terrifies her.

Bucky slams Khethiwe against the mat, hands pulling her leggings down from her hips and stealing beneath them. Not one to be left behind, Khethiwe reaches down to undo his belt and free him. Shuri lets out a soft, muffled gasp as the two of them both cry out when he finally presses into her.

Bucky pauses at the cry, staring at Khethiwe. She inhales deeply as she adjusts to the feeling of him, before she curves one hand against his cheek and presses a soft kiss there. When he starts to move slowly, Shuri sees her close her eyes, bite her lower lip, and breathe him in. Like she's memorizing all of it - his touch, his breath, the _feeling_ of him inside her.

“ _Khethiwe_.” Bucky murmurs against her mouth. Shuri has never heard him like this. His voice is strained with some mix of simmering pleasure and open, shameless desire that sets her insides on fire.

There’s something _else_ there, too. A bit of awe, of reverence for the woman beneath him.

It's as if he’s had a revelation. As if he’s being _reborn_.

The tone of his voice gives her the strength to move, and Shuri turns and _runs_ from the studio at last.

Her last glimpse of them is Khethiwe moaning plaintively and locking her legs around Bucky’s back, his hungry growl in response, and the first deep thrust of his hips that has her crying out with pleasure.

* * *

 

He asks her, the next day, why she hadn’t made it to the sparring studio.

Shuri fumbles for an excuse, but her tongue suddenly feels like a dead, leaden weight in her mouth.

“I… wasn’t feeling well.” she finally manages. It’s not, after all, very far from the truth.

His eyes narrow with concern. He’s clearly not buying it.

“Are you _sure_ , Shuri?” he repeats, a bit more quietly this time.

“You know -- “ and he fixes her with a look so honest it hurts -- “you can tell me _anything_.”

He’s so damned _sincere_. So well-meaning, truly.

But this, Shuri knows, is not something she can _ever_ share with him.

She lies through her teeth.

“I’m fine. Promise.”

Shuri smiles at him, ignoring the pang in her heart, and carries on.

* * *

Shuri wonders how long she can pretend to forget what she’d seen.

How long she can suppress the storm of emotions it had ignited within her.

And then, of course, she sees them.

Holding hands. Smiling. Looking completely, blissfully, _happy_. In love.

They don’t see her. It’s better that way.

Shuri turns on her heel and runs into an empty studio. Slams the door, locks it shut.

She can feel the blood rushing from her head. Can feel herself going dizzy.

She battles the sensation. Drops to the ground, knees slamming against the wooden floors with a dull thud.

And then, the floodgates burst open.

For the first time since seeing them together, Shuri finally sits down, closes her eyes, and lets herself _sob_.

* * *

Crying isn’t a cure for heartbreak. But it certainly offers the catharsis she needs.

A brief cure for the ugliness she doesn’t want to confront just yet.

At twenty one, she has all the time in the world.

* * *

Later, she thinks, with some mix of shame and still-stinging hurt, about how wrong and yet, how _right_ it felt to watch them together.

The electricity it sent down her spine. And the _unbearable_ longing it opened in her heart.

* * *

 

The worst part?

Try as she might, Shuri _can’t_ hate Khethiwe.

She can only hate herself.

For not seeing this coming -- and for not knowing what on _earth_ to do next.

All she knows is this --

Love at first sight _is_ a ridiculous notion. Something best left to the confines of a fairy tale.

And something she won’t indulge in. Not ever again.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'm wakandawinterprincess on tumblr, so stop thru to chat, look at my lame edits, or yell at me for this. sorry!


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